


Not For You

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Irredeemable Filth: The Steter Collection [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Leather Kink, M/M, POV Stiles, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: “Lube?”Peter rolls his eyes, but steps away to snatch the bottle off the carpet. “Here.” When he stares instead of taking it, Peter drops it on his chest. “I already told you I’m not ruining my gloves for you. Slick me up if you need it so bad.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BelleAmante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelleAmante/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Belle, and Happy New Year! 
> 
> _Big_ thanks go to DenaCeleste, Benji, and the denizens of Fandom Hell for helping me with this one!

 

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “You know I love you, right? Because I have every intention of fucking you like I don’t.”

Stiles licks his lips, nodding as Peter pulls on the black leather gloves that have his dick starting to chub up in his jeans. They’re a promise: Peter won’t lose control. Stiles is safe.

There’s just something about leather, though. The way it feels, looks, _smells_. Stiles won’t let Peter live down how long the usually painfully-perceptive werewolf thought his boner was for _Derek_ rather than the leather jacket dude’s so attached to.

(In return, Peter’s never let him forget the way he begged for cock the first time Peter snapped the gloves across his face.)

At his nod, Peter smirks. “Alright then.”

Before he can blink, Peter’s in front of him, all-but literally tearing his clothes off. He’s struggling with his jeans, caught as they are around his thighs, when Peter’s foot hooks the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the floor. He catches himself by grabbing Peter’s hips—which is why, even though he’s still worried about wriggling out of his jeans, he notices Peter unzipping. If the sound wasn’t enough, the brush of leather against his forehead would be.

He looks up, and sees Peter pulling his cock out. His mouth starts to water, and it must be obvious, because Peter grips the back of his hair and drags him in, pressing him face-to-groin, Peter’s dick sliding sticky and hot against his cheek.

Peter speaks in his most dangerous tone—whisper-soft and silky—as he says, “The only thing I want to hear tonight is the sound of you choking on my cock, unless you’re begging for more. Understood?”

Stiles tries to nod his head, but Peter’s grip tightens, and he moans. “Sir, please?”

Peter tips his head back, so he can see the hungry eyes and wicked smirk. “Oh, I like that. But what are you asking for, sweetheart? It’s important to be specific.”

His cheeks burn, but—“Wanna suck you, sir.”

Peter hauls him back before guiding his mouth as far down Peter’s erection as possible without cutting off his air. “That’s a good little slut. And you know what good cocksluts who ask politely get?”

Stiles is sucking for all he’s worth, tongue working, but he knows Peter. Knows that this is a trap—Peter wants him to respond, stay engaged, but actually speaking is a no-no. It would mean pulling off Peter’s dick. So he hums inquisitively around the flesh in his mouth.

Peter’s hips buck in response, lips pulling into a smirk when it makes him gag. “They get the option of taking _more_ cock.”

He makes a confused sound. Peter drops the lube beside him on the floor. “If you actually need any prep to take me, best get on that now.” When he gives Peter an incredulous look, amusement lights the blue eyes. “I’m not ruining my gloves, especially not for you. God only knows where you’ve been.”

Stiles can feel his blush deepen at the implication. Somehow, knowing that Peter doesn’t really care about ruining his gloves—has, in fact, already ruined a pair with him—makes him tingle and squirm. Still, he widens his knees as much as he can before opening the tube and slicking his fingers. The angle is awkward, especially with his jeans around his knees, but he’s no stranger to this particular act.

Soon he’s moaning around Peter as he works himself open with two fingers. He jolts when he manages to brush his prostate, and Peter laces his fingers together at the back of Stiles’s head, dragging him forward and forcing him to deepthroat. He gags, fighting a little, even as he starts to leak.

Peter chuckles darkly, able to smell it. “Better hurry up, slut. As pretty as you look choking on my cock, that’s not where I’m finishing tonight.”

Knowing that Peter is going to be selfish, use him whether he’s ready for it or not, makes the leaking worse. He pushes a third finger inside himself, ignoring the way his wrist is starting to ache, because as sexy as the thought of Peter splitting him open is, he knows the reality would suck tomorrow. He groans at the stretch.

“That’s it, show me how much you want it.”

At that, Stiles needs a break or this is going to end _way_ too fast. He slides his fingers free, rocking back to sit on his heels. Peter lets him go, watching with amusement.

Being watched doesn’t help with his whole don’t-come-too-soon plan. So he looks up at Peter with what he hopes is a pleading expression, voice thin and raspy as he asks, “Can I have it now, sir? Please?”

When Peter nods, smirking, he wobbles to his feet and drapes himself over the bed. He figures Peter’ll drive straight into him, and he’s more than looking forward to it, which is why hands on his _thighs_ are a little unexpected. He looks over his shoulder, and Peter’s expression is hungry. “Oh no, little slut,” he croons, pulling Stiles’s jeans and boxers down and off. “I want to see you. Wanna see how much you need it, how much you like taking my cock. How pretty you are when you get desperate.”

He can’t help it—he whimpers, even as he obediently turns over on to his back, knees falling open for Peter to move between. Peter doesn’t waste any time, lining up. Before he starts to push, Stiles stops him, squeezing his legs around Peter’s unfairly-narrow hips.

“Lube?”

Peter rolls his eyes, but steps away to snatch the bottle off the carpet. “Here.” When he stares instead of taking it, Peter drops it on his chest. “I already told you I’m not ruining my gloves for you. Slick me up if you need it so bad.”

His flush deepens, but he does as he’s told. Then Peter’s rolling forward, sliding inside smoothly but nothing like slowly. He gasps, arching, both hands reaching out to grip broad shoulders, when one of his wrists is caught and pressed against the bed, the leather warm now from the heat of Peter’s skin.

He frowns, as confused as he is turned-on, and Peter flashes him a warning look. “I’m not interested in being dirtied up by you. Your job is to lie there and appreciate the fact that I’m giving you the dicking you clearly need.”

Stiles moans, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

 So he does exactly what he’s told—he lies there and takes it as Peter fucks him hard, harder than the werewolf usually dares. Stiles arches and gasps, legs tight around Peter as he feels his orgasm start to build at the rough treatment. Peter huffs an almost-laugh. “So pretty, watching you writhe on my cock.”

When Peter speeds up, it gets even better—and Stiles didn’t know that was possible. He’s panting and whining, but doesn’t realize that he’s start to babble until Peter slides two fingers into his mouth. His gut tightens at the taste of the leather, and he’s so close to coming completely untouched that he’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good.

Peter’s voice sounds gravelly, this close to his own finish and strained with the force of his rutting. “I already told you I like my sluts to be seen and not heard. As cute as your moaning is, I’m _still_ not ruining my gloves with your come.”

Peter’s hips stutter as he releases with a hot rush, and Stiles comes at the feeling, his shout muffled by Peter’s fingers.


End file.
